In Sight
by Lily Thorne
Summary: What angel would want anything to do with you?
1. Out of Mind

:1:Out of Mind:1:

"The rose and the thorn, and sorrow and gladness are linked together."

-Saadi

My feeling would never change, but…now she was gone, and this thought meant more to me that the impending destruction of the world."

-Roger Zelazney

---

Candles burned low, and the dim light swayed and flickered. Deep, wicked shadows began to sneak out from the corners, encroaching on the already-hesitant flames. It wasn't the most savory place, but the sake was warm and you didn't fear strangers in the middle of the night slitting your throat and running off with your purse. Few were still awake at that late hour – day and night mixing and spinning into one soft time when dew clung to the grass and the empty sky refused the sun a spot that the moon wouldn't fill that evening.

"I knew 'n angel onesh," he slurred. The innkeeper scoffed, looking down at his drunken patron. Messy black hair fell around a face the dark hid too well for recognition. His clothes were tattered, and his weapon was bloody and in need of cleaning.

"What angel would want anything to do with you?"

The man frowned, gesturing with his cup. The sake skittered dangerously along the brim before retreating back. Just like him.

"Broke," the man explained, his eyes unfocused. "All bust'd up 'nside an' I coulda fixed 'er but I didn't."

The sober man paused. If anyone was broken, it was this man. That was plain to see. Once great, obviously, now barefoot and drunken for reasons that the innkeeper neither knew nor cared about. After all, he paid for his drink and didn't cause too much ruckus so why should he care? But something about the sharpness of the drunkard's eyes compelled him. A servant was replacing the straggling candles with longer tapers, and he could see that their colour was not wholly natural, and despite his focus there was a curious fixture to them, as if they were trying to grasp an image beyond reach or comprehension. Maybe there was a grain of truth in this angel story. He sat down and refilled the man's empty cup.

"Tell me about this angel of yours," he invited.

The man gulped down his drink, and tossed his cup to the table. It shattered into a thousand tiny, irreparable fragments and he burst into laughter. Wasn't he like the cup? She had been right all along, his angel. His heavenly maiden. Right about everything.

"She'sss beaut'ful. All beat'ful. Evry 'air on 'er pretty lil 'ead ish perf'ct an' I ushed t' brush it for 'er when she let me. An' she 'ad a great ash. An' strong 'cept not really." He stopped, cocking his head to the side. God, she was wonderful. Why was it like this? Ah, yes. Because of

Don't think about it.

The innkeeper looked at him strangely, noticing for the first time the colour of his skin. Tanned, the way he would have expected from a traveler at this time of year. The muggy heat of fall had dried up everything, and now they simply waited for winter to roll around. The only problem was his right hand. Halfway down his forearm to the hand excluding the fingers his skin was several shades lighter than the rest. As if it had spent many years covered up, and release had been only recent.

"Not my fault she'sss broken," he said, his hands trembling as he tried to pour himself another cup of sake. "She made tha' demn all on 'er own."

"Demn?" the other man wondered aloud – and then it clicked. Demon. What demons, though? While he thought, the traveler went on.

"Hah! Demns. They're all th' same. Th' onesh she kill'd an' th' onesh she couldn' kill. Tha's how she did 't, killin' demns. Shouldna tried fer this'n. It's too big fer one angel."

He stood, and staggered. One hand groped for his staff – his bloody, deadly staff. He braced himself up on it, his voice rising with him.

" This'n, ish too big fer any'n. Ther'r so many of ush, an' we still can' get 'im. 'Cept then…whoosh!"

He swung one arm out, and very nearly toppled over. The innkeeper stood quickly, and put one of the traveler's arms over his shoulder.

"Come on, then, stranger. Sleep now and I'll hear all about your angel in the morning."

The man nodded, though whether from tiredness, drunken stupor or agreement it was impossible to tell. But quickly he was unconscious, and the other man called over his wife. Between the two of them, they dragged the drunken man to his room, and lay him on his side lest he choke on his own vomit. There was some fuss with opening the door, and another one slid open.

"Oh, shit," a young redhead swore, watching the innkeeper and his wife drag their unconscious charge into the other room. Green eyes darted from the empty sake bottle; just visible around the corner, to the blurry forms of the owners as they lay the man down behind the paper door. He pulled on a furry jacket, and slid his own door shut. His hair he re-tied with a strip of fabric, and when he heard the helpful duo leave the hall, he darted across that same hall and into the drunken man's room.

A cloth was wetted, and the young man began trying to cool the inebriated monk. When the houshi was violently ill, the redhead cleaned it up and returned to watch him for the night. It was the first time that Shippou would tidy up the other man's excess, but not the last.

"Ah, Miroku," he sighed when he sat down again after the third cleaning. "Is this really what you've come to?"

---

How far is one foot?

Terribly long, in this instance. It was the distance between Miroku and Sango at dinner. It was also the distance between each of them and the dinner pot, but they seemed to manage. So why was the foot between them so very different?

Because, of course, that single foot became a thousand in the presence of their companions. It was only after Kagome, Inuyasha, and Shippou had fallen asleep that the foot became less than an inch. Her head rested on his shoulder and his arm slid around her waist – but no lower – and they slept. They were always very careful to move apart again before their friends woke. Such was the nature of their relationship. A furtive attempt at happiness, so laughable as to be believable. Thus the need for secrecy.

After all, were a taijiya and a houshi any more plausible than a hanyou and a miko?

---

A woman's laughter.

The same woman's scream.

Callused hands holding his own.

Callused hands sharp against his cheek.

Touching his arm.

Soft lips, unsure against his.

Featherlight kisses over faces and necks.

Quietly bemused, smiling at him.

And the wind that consumed them both.

Miroku woke to the feeling of something damp on his forehead – he tore it off. He didn't bother to look around, but instead, swore violently. Everything was moving just a little too fast that morning. And why the hell was the sun so bright?

"Ugh..."

It was neither eloquent nor remotely coherent, yet it summed up how he felt that morning. From the feeling of nausea in his stomach, and the pain everywhere else, he surmised that he was hungover. Great. The only good thing that could be said about being hungover was that no matter how little you remembered of the night before, it always told you _why_.

"Miroku!" someone shouted, and the monk cringed. When his head had settled on a dull, throbbing pain as its torture of choice, he dared to crack one eye open again. Bad idea. But before he could close them again, he got a glimpse of his noisy companion's face.

"Shippou?" he muttered, confused. Maybe he was still dreaming. After all, it had been an old dream, the wind, so why not? It'd fit the pattern. When the noisome voice chirped an affirmation, he groaned. He had almost convinced himself that he was dreaming – a very _realistic_ dream. Of all the people to find him…the last thing he wanted to do was speak to anyone they had known. Anyone who knew.

"How are you feeling?" the kitsune – who had never been drunk – asked. Miroku summoned a bit of strength and pointed somewhere in the vicinity of the window.

"Too bright," he grunted. Shippou scurried off to drape a bit of cloth over the window – it had been left there for just that purpose. Some things happened in these rooms that the outside world didn't need to know about, after all. When that was done, Miroku sat up and swore again; his head protested the movement. The kitsune squatted next to him and offered the cool cloth again – he grabbed it and dabbed at his forehead.

"Why are you here?" he asked, and coughed. Shippou shrugged.

"It's on the way…" the young man trailed off, hesitant. The houshi nodded, understanding. On the way to Kaede's. Kagome was due to visit any day now – of course Shippou would go. They were no more than a few hours from the village.

"I had just…um…appeared when they dragged you into this room."

"Appeared?"

"Yea. It's a long story."

The monk ruffled his old friend's hair affectionately. God, had he grown – he was almost two feet in height. Everything else was the same, though. Mischievous green eyes inspected his tattered clothing with concern, and a mop of red hair still fought the cloth that tied it up. He had grown up fast in the other man's absence.

"But what about you?" Shippou asked. "Why are you here? And why are you…er…"

Miroku sighed, and looked down at the cloth in his hands.

"I made a mistake. It's a long story."

"Well, you can tell me on the way! Kagome would be really happy if you came."

The monk smiled wryly.

"I bet she would be."

"Then we'll leave as soon as you bathe."

Miroku looked at the kitsune, startled.

"Now, I never sai –" he started, but Shippou was already on his way to inform the innkeeper of his plans. He sat there for a moment in stunned silence, before putting his head in his hands. He knew who else would be there to greet Kagome, and he dreaded the moment that was to come.

They were on the road before the sun had begun its descent from high noon. Shippou chattered at an old friend he hadn't seen for years, totally unaware of the fact that he wasn't paying attention. After all, how was he to know what had transpired between them?

He put an arm around her waist, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Her hair was smooth and damp from bathing, and she smelt of faint smoke and poultices. It had been a long day changing bandages and mixing herbs for wound inflicted during the last – very last! – battle. He, too, was a little wet. Miroku had spent the whole day scrubbing himself clean. They had insisted he deserved it, to take off that glove on his own, to wash the skin beneath it in peace and quiet. He partly obeyed Kagome's firm but affectionate command that he spend the day enjoying the wholeness of his hand.

Enjoying it was a little beyond him, at that moment. The rough fabric, sewn in the slapdash way of the man who has little experience with needle and thread, and the prayer beads around it were the sanctuary he carried with him. Just as some found peace in true meditation, and some in good deeds, he found his solace in the cloth and beads that held off his curse – and all other hurts as well. It was as much a part of him as his eyes or his mind.

Though, so was she.

He pulled her aside as she and Kagome went for herbs. The younger girl noticed, he knew, but would say nothing. She'd think it was terribly romantic. The tragic couple sharing a tender moment as he overcame the struggles that life placed before him, she would say to herself. In truth, it was cowardice that caused him to ask her to be there when he pulled away the glove. Both his mind and his gut knew that the kazaana was gone, that was not the problem. If it were, he would have done it alone rather than endanger her. What he feared was seeing his skin whole.

In his mind, the kazaana had become something of a rather good opponent. He admired and despised the hole in his hand, and respected the strength of it. Having lived with it so long, he had never expected to be rid of it. The reality he had been facing was one where he faced the same end as his father, and if by chance he had a son, that the boy would live and die under Naraku's curse as well. But now…the adversary and weapon he had carried in his right hand since his eighth year was gone. It was more than a little disconcerting.

Yet at the same time, he was excited. He now had a lifetime to spend with Sango. A lifetime to watch her grow, to learn about her, and to die next to her. A lifetime to rear children with her, to share a home and a bed and a life with the woman he loved so dearly. To laugh when she blushed, to argue, to make up, to agree and disagree and make a living and do everything that he had wanted to do with her. And to live until he died, now that would be truly wondrous. To not have his fate sealed by the mistake of his grandfather, but to carve his own path and create his own life. This would be the first thing he shared with her under this new life.

She smiled and took his hand – his right hand – in hers. She would be glad to be there, she told him. An endearing blush spread across her cheeks. He smiled back at her, rakish and charming and thankful – the smile that was for her and only her.

His fingers were steady as he slipped the beads off of his arm, and placed them in her hands. Kagome had returned before they even left – and now she, Shippo and Kaede tended to Inuyasha in the hut. They would be busy for a good while. Sesshoumaru had left almost immediately after the battle ended – but Kouga was still sniffing around. He wouldn't bother them, though, he was here for Kagome. So they sat in peace in the soft grass beside the river.

He unwrapped the cloth slowly, gently, as if he feared to touch the skin beneath it. And he did fear it, but he knew that it would be worthwhile. The folds slipped away with the soft shushing noise that cloth makes when it falls against itself. He placed them in her hands with the beads, and inspected the palm of his right hand.

No scar, no telltale mark. Nothing to say this had ever happened, except for the color of the skin. He supposed it would be that way for a long while, after all, it had been under that glove since he was a child. From the middle of the forearm to the hand excluding the fingers was deathly pale. He touched the spot where only days before a great chasm had opened into a somewhere he had never been given the chance to see. His hand twitched, the unsure brush of his fingers tickling the nerves untouched for more than a decade.

Houshi-sama, she breathed. His face broke into a smile, and he reached up with his new, whole hand and cupped her cheek. Doe-brown eyes widened at the touch, but after a moment she smiled as widely as he was and covered that hand with her own.

There it is, he told her.

There it is, she agreed.

And there it was. One of the last intimate moments that he would spend with her.

"Miroku!" Shippou called, reaching up to wave a hand in front of his face. Miroku shook his head, and was surprised to see that they were at Kaede's village already. The kitsune sighed.

"Hopeless…"

"Who is?" Miroku asked, still a little confused. Shippou laughed and tugged him forward towards the hut, telling him not to mind.

'Mind what?' the houshi though, puzzled.

Reuniting with Inuyasha was nothing out of the ordinary. The hanyou looked up, greeted Shippou as 'runt', did a double take, and greeted Miroku before returning to his lunch. Really, it was as if nothing had changed, except…the Inuyasha that the monk remembered would have been up in a flash, demanding to know why the hell he was here all of a sudden, where he had been all those years and just what was going on. The change was almost drastic, and Miroku wondered just how much he had missed. The sight of Shippou stealing the hanyou's fish, however, and the chase that ensued, reassured him that however much the two of them had changed, they were still the same pair he had known when he fought against Naraku.

When Kaede didn't enter after that, Miroku was perplexed. That much noise should have at least alerted her to the presence of her guests, and she would have normally come in to say hello by now. When he asked, Inuyasha looked at him sharply, and Shippou heaved a sigh. Something cold twinged in the base of his stomach, and he looked at the kitsune sadly.

"My apologies," he said quietly. "I take it this is your home now, Inuyasha?"

The hanyou nodded gruffly. Miroku felt a great pang of sadness in his heart, not only for Kaede, but also for the fact that he had not been here when it happened. He had not been here to say a prayer for the old miko, or to bless her funeral pyre. Years were both long and short, it seemed. They sat in an awkward silence for a few moments before a mewing noise alerted him that the worst moment had come.

Laughter is supposedly a joyous sound. It is supposed to be 'the best medicine', and 'the universal language' and all sorts of other wonderful things. A sound made when one finds happiness or humour in something, indicating a cheerful outlook.

But it's not. Laughter can strike a blow stronger than any man or beast. It can show derision, bitterness, wickedness, and spitefulness. It can be used as a weapon, and it breaks more hearts than it mends. The sound of Sango's laughter as she called for Kirara to wait up tore at Miroku's heart, and the merriment in her voice was bittersweet inside him.

So she was happy, good. But she was happy without him, not so good.

"Kirara," she scolded with a laugh, "You need to slow do–"

She looked around in search of the neko (who was happily greeting Shippou) and saw him.


	2. Out of Sight

:2:Out of :2:

"Our deeds are like children that are born to us; they live and act apart from our own will. Nay, children may be strangled, but deeds never: they have an indestructible life both in and out of our consciousness."

-George Elliot

"Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up."

-James Baldwin

---

Sango could hear Shippou calling after Inuyasha even from her room at the back of the inn. Poor Kagome…even with the borrowance of Kirara, it didn't look like she would get home anytime soon. Secretly, she was thankful that they were gone for a little while. Miroku was off meditating, and that gave her time to think. She began to pack, knowing what she had to do. It was just how to do it that bothered her so.

She had less than a few hours left before she had to go. That didn't give her much time. Two days…she might as well have had two minutes.

And she got less than that now, for Miroku walked in and smiled at her before she had even put away the rag she had cleaned Hiraikotsu with. She continued tidying up. He looked at her oddly, and she knew that avoiding his look had been the wrong way to go. He knew something was up now.

Miroku's hands stopped hers.

"What's going on?" he asked, concerned. She pulled her hands from under his and strapped Hiraikotsu to her back.

"I'm going to find Kohaku," she told him. Hey, the best lies were closest to the truth, weren't they? He nodded.

"I'll stay with Kaede until you're done," he said. She turned around. Now was the time to do this. Now or never. Her obligation was to her brother. Everything else could wait – forever, even, if that was the case. And it was best that this be one of those cases.

Why was it so hard to convince herself that this was right?

"Don't bother," she said, still not able to meet his eyes. She didn't need to see him to know that he would look puzzled and unsure; that his look would sway her judgement. She couldn't let that happen.

"I don't think…I can do this anymore."

It was a minute or so before Miroku understood what she was saying. But at the same time, he didn't. If she wanted to go, he'd let her go without a fuss, but what had gone wrong? Had he done something? Not done something? It didn't fit together in his mind. His tongue seemed stuck in his mouth, his throat closed. He said nothing.

She couldn't bring herself to look at him, and hoped that maybe saying nothing would help him to hate her. Externally, she looked fine. She had gotten good at that over the years. Internally, though, there was fire and ice and brimstone throwing itself around. Her heart was getting the worst of it, and her conviction was wavering. It was time to leave.

She straightened, and opened the door.

"Goodbye."

"Houshi-sama," she gasped.

"It's been awhile, Sango-san," he greeted politely. The respectful suffix rolled of his tongue slowly, as if the flavour of it didn't sit well within his mouth. But it slipped into her heart quickly enough, reminding her of what she had done.

"It has been awhile," she replied, picking up Kirara. She looked at him with an impassive expression, and tried not to say anything. She met his eyes squarely, and managed to keep it together, just barely. Who would have thought that despite the years that had passed between them she still felt their separation as keenly as the first day?

Miroku worked at his lunch, glancing at her every so often, as if he was re-learning her appearance. Sango looked down at Kirara, who lay in her lap. She looked worriedly up at her mistress, and mewed softly. The taiji-ya ran her fingers through the neko's fur, softly combing out the bristles. The moment hadn't passed, but instead it lingered in the air, a foul smoke that weighed heavily upon them. It filled the room, choking of their supply of serenity. Neither of them wished to speak, yet both with that the other would say something. Anything would have been better than that God-awful silence.

But the disquieted vacuum was all they had, and so they sat in discomfort. He watched her as she combed her fingers through Kirara's fur. She had changed much since he saw her last. Her hair was a little longer, and the ribbon that tied it was green, not white. She looked older, but not wearier. More like…she had finished growing and maturing, and this was the woman she had become. He reminded himself that she would have just turned twenty, and it was with only the slightest inward wince that he reminded himself that this made him twenty-four. He was getting old. Something he'd wanted to do with her. Not for the first time, he wished that he had gone after her that day. Or any day after that, actually. But he wasn't the sort to fight when it was futile, and there had been something final about her voice, her expression, the way she rushed away from him and out of his life.

The unspoken filth in the air filtered through the hut, and Shippou looked up. Only now did he notice that this was the first time Miroku had come to visit since they all went their separate ways. He watched them out of the corner of his eye, hoping to see something normal. Maybe Sango would look at Miroku, and he'd look at her, and then they'd both look away and she'd blush. Maybe they'd go outside for 'firewood', and talk this out. Maybe all they needed was a push…

"So where's Kohaku?" Inuyasha asked.

…in the right direction, which that was not. The taiji-ya and the houshi froze up even more, if that was possible. Miroku worked at his lunch with 'peaceful' single-mindedness, and Sango's attention to her neko's fur became an obsession. She answered with forced carelessness that he would be along shortly, that he had been up to his elbows in muck when she left and the cleanup would take a little while. And then it hit her.

Kohaku was coming, and Miroku was here. She bit her lip to keep from losing her grip.

'Oh God,' she thought, _'What am I going to do? Kohaku can't see him! He can't!'_

she thought, 

The hanyou, still unaware of the almost-tangible tension between his companions, continued the conversation. His questions were posed mainly to Sango, who was becoming increasingly unnerved. Little things about her life were slipping out, as was expected, but this time Miroku heard them. And for some reason that bothered her. She didn't know how she should feel about it, that he was learning what had happened in the past few years, but it wasn't a good thing. That much she knew. And he kept asking for explanations, in the most polite and non-invasive way humanly possible, and then she – or Inuyasha, in his oblivious way – would answer, and he'd know even more about her life without him.

Life without him _was_ life, she reminded herself. She wasn't some silly girl, lost without a man. Her man. Was he still hers? Or had he moved on? Those were the sort of questions she couldn't ask. Not that she could ask him anything, right now. Why was she so weak around him? It was so frustrating. She was stronger than this, dammit! His mere presence shouldn't turn her into this…this writhing mass of nerves.

"So where've you been for three years, bozu?" Inuyasha asked, and everyone (save him) tensed. Sango watched the houshi out of the corner of her eye, wishing that Inuyasha hadn't asked that question, and yet waiting with baited breath for the answer.

Miroku thought carefully about his answer. What had he been doing? Travelling. Earning enough to get by, and then moving on. Wandering. Wondering if the next village would be hers. Some days it was better than others. He managed to stay sober most of the time, but some nights he was just desperate to forget. It had been worst in the beginning, though after an extended stay at Mushin's, it got better. When he left the elderly monk's temple, his drinks became few and far between (but always, when he did, he got soused. Just enough to forget, though. Just enough). The night Shippou found him had been his first drink in over a month.

But he couldn't explain this to his companions, for obvious reasons. And so his chose his answer delicately, choosing only a few details to mention.

"Out and about. I stayed with Mu-"

"What the fuck kind of answer is that?" Inuyasha interrupted, scowling. Shippou looked at the hanyou, and wished (not for the first time) that his friend had _brains_ with that strength of his. To the kitsune's immense surprise, it was Sango who replied.

"He wasn't done, Inuyasha," she said in a tone obviously picked up from Kagome, whether the taijiya knew it or not. Her voice was kind and mellow, and she smiled over at Miroku, who smiled back. The hanyou's rash behavior caused them to forget, for just one moment, the years they spent apart. For not even a minute, they were 'Sango and Miroku' again.

But that moment was over swiftly as Sango remember what she had done, and she looked away quickly, biting her lip. The hope that had flared in Miroku died suddenly, for the swiftness in which she had looked away was not the usual sort. A blush didn't accompany it, as it had before, and he knew that there was nothing he could do. He had been right all along; she had never learned to trust him

'She looks at me and remembers the flirting,' he thought,_ 'the broken trust. I shouldn't be here. Not if it hurts her so much.'_

"Fine then," Inuyasha said crossly. "What were you gonna say?"

Miroku was startled into the present, and he sighed.

"I stayed with Mushin for awhile," he continued. "But I spent most of my time travelling." _'Forgetting.'_

And so the conversation continued, with questions about who had done what, and where they had been. The day went on, and twighlight began to settle. Dinner was served and eaten, and all were glad for the silence it brought. Miroku was surprised to find that Inuyasha was the one who had cooked it, especially since it was not ramen, and he had shown no interest in the culinary arts on their journey. Though, he supposed as he ate the rice in silence, if he lived on his own like this it only made sense. Kagome would have taught him how to take care of himself. And who cooked for him after his mother died? If it was cooked, that was.

When he was finished he stood, and stretched. He left the hut undisturbed, but knew that it was noted. That much hadn't changed. He walked towards the spot he meditated at when he was last here. It would be of much help. He didn't quite feel like himself.

Sango watched him leave over her rice, and wondered what she was going to do. Kohaku would be here any moment, and she would be hard pressed to keep him away from Miroku.

---

It was nearly sunset when Kohaku – bedraggled, but clean – arrived at the hut. Sango was guiltily pleased to find that Miroku hadn't returned yet. She was still half-working on a plan to keep them from seeing each other, but hopelessness still filled her. This was so _hard_…perhaps next month they wouldn't come, not if Miroku was going to begin coming to visit. She couldn't handle it.

Mechanically, she stood and hugged her brother, asking the usual questions about the trip, not listening to a word of it. Her companions chattered, oblivious to her worries. Her pulse throbbed, and panic tightened in her chest each time she heard footsteps outside the hut. Every time, it was just villagers passing by, but she never dropped her guard. When they began settling for the night, she decided that they would not stay the usual day or two. Only long enough to see Kagome, and perhaps eat lunch. She could always use recruitment as an excuse to leave early – though Kohaku would ask questions later. That was manageable. This terror, this pain, the ache that filled her lungs with every breath she took in Miroku's presence – that was what made this trip so hard.

Giving little thought to the questions that her brother would ask later, she settled near the door for a sleepless night. If Kohaku awoke in the night…if Miroku came back and her brother awaked to the steps…there were just too many 'if's'. She would stay up, nervously guarding Kohaku's memory through the long night.

Not too far away, settling down to sleep in the woods, Miroku spared a glance towards the hut. He had seen Kohaku arrive, had smiled to see the boy in such good health. He only wished that he could have met him, the brother that meant so much to Sango. But he wouldn't go back to the hut that night, not if his presence was a plague on her. No, his night would be spent here. He'd go back in the morning to say hello to Kagome and to apologize to Sango. After that, he'd take pains not to run into anyone again.

Sleep did not come easy to the wayward monk. The same doubts and questions which had boiled over when Sango left had begun to rise again. In the years since that day, they had come to a manageable simmer, where he could just forget. But now…seeing her again…it was all there.

He had never truly known why she left. He could only assume that she had been unable to trust him. There was no other way to account for it that he could think of. She had probably moved on since then, on to other people and (as much as he hated to think it) another man. Someone she could believe in. Someone who she could trust. Someone who was nothing like him.

He frowned, and drove those thoughts from his mind.

'It's pointless,' he told himself firmly. _'And no matter what, it's none of your business. You've done enough damage already.'_

he told himself firmly. 

---

It's bright as they walk along the river, just the two of them. The warm sun filters through the glimmering _leaves to cast patches of light on their skin. A neko pads along a little behind them, stopping to sniff this patch of grass or that fallen leaf. The jangle of the rings on his shakujo keeps a steady rhythm with their steps – not that it's heard over the talk of the houshi and the taiji-ya. _

Their conversation wanders, as it is wont to do, over to the business of demon extermination. The dark-eyed taiji-ya pulled a shell from under her shoulder guard, and they are discussing the contents.

"I've never seen you use it," the houshi says, warm eyes lingering on the woman's face before inspecting the gel.

"I've actually never had to," she admits. "It's more of a just-in-case thing."

"Really? I'd think you'd use it an awful lot."

"Well, for one thing, it's pretty potent, and for another, you don't want to become dependant on it. You should be able to live with your pain. Not to mention it's dangerous not to be able to feel the injury – how would you know how bad it is?"

He pauses for a moment, thinking.

"So then, what's the scenario that you keep it for, 'just in case'?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. She looks grimly at him.

"So that the victim won't know how bad the injury is."

He nods, looking ahead of them. There's a pregnant pause between them, neither of them wanting to think of a situation where a wound would be that serious. The tension breaks when the neko hops up onto her mistress' shoulder and licks her cheek. The taiji-ya laughs, petting the little demon, and the houshi looks at her softly. He likes to see her smile.

The darkness past, he asks what it's made from, and she shrugs.

"A couple of herbs I don't know the name of, and the venom of a snake demon who paralyzes its prey."

He looks startled, but recovers. His next question has nothing to do with the copper-coloured shell, or the goo inside. The monk asks about her shoulder guard, and as she unties one and hands it to him, a handful of other items – string, a couple more shells, and a small roll of cloth bandages – escape from her sleeve and scatter over the forest floor.

Miroku helps her pick up the fallen items, and Sango puts them in another hidden pouch, along with the gel she doesn't like to think about. She'd rather think about him.

---

Tousled hair Falling in dark Eyes lingering on her lips Silly smile Warm mouth close to hers Close to her Scent of green tea and earth Soft flower tucked behind an ear by Callused hands The clack of beads –

And the wind that tears him away.

She woke to the sound of Kagome's voice hollering at Inuyasha to sit. The amusement that stemmed from this brushed away the grief that had covered her like dust on a neglected statue. It was an old dream, one she hadn't had in a long time. She hadn't intended to fall asleep, and panic gripped her for a moment as she wondered if Miroku had returned.

But no extra pallet was set, and Kohaku greeted her normally. Her heart ceased its attempt to leave her chest and she sighed. If she hadn't been convinced the night before that leaving was a good idea, she was now. Shippou was nowhere to be seen, and when Sango stepped outside the hut she found out why.

Whatever argument Inuyasha and Kagome had had was stemmed from Shippou, who was making faces at the hanyou from his safe spot behind the girl (being, as he was, too big now to fit on her shoulder). It was not uncommon, and Sango returned inside to inform Kohaku of her plans. The boy, however, was already outside, walking past her to say hello to Kagome. Shippou quickly traded his spot behind Kagome for one beside Kohaku and her brother looked down and smiled.

She couldn't make out what they said, but as she walked up, the taller (though probably not older) boy told her that they were going to go wash up before breakfast and catch up on things. She waved goodbye with a smile that she wasn't entirely sure was passable, and hugged her younger friend.

The same 'sit' that had woken Sango also woke Miroku. He smiled and stretched. Seeing Kagome had always cheered him up – her attitude was catching. He picked up his shakujo and made his way towards the spot where his companions were greeting the young woman.

He stopped only once to splash his face in the river, to clear the rest of the sleep from his mind. As he did, however, the sound of voices wafted through the trees to him. He ignored them, for the most part, until he heard one voice – sounding notably like Shippou – ask:

"How's Sango doing?"

Miroku stopped with his hands still in the cool water and stood up sharply; now with all his attention focused on the unseen pair.

"What do you mean?" the second voice asked carelessly.

"You know," the first voice, now cemented in his mind as the kitsune, said. A sigh was heaved.

"I honestly don't know. She seems fine, most of the time, but…"

"But?"

"If she's not distracted by training the new recruits in the village, or working on weapons, or…_something _then she seems…I don't know, almost lost. Like she's missing something that she needs, and she doesn't quite know how to do without."

There was a pause, and the Shippou asked:

"Do you have any idea why?"

And the voice that the young boy used was eerie, sounding as if he already knew the cause of Sango's difficulty.

"I haven't a clue!" the other boy cried, sounding frustrated. "And I don't want to ask. She's trying so hard not to show it, especially when I'm around – I mean, she even took to hanging around the smithy when Miyazaki-san's new apprentice was about and I _know_ that she did it because I said that I thought they would be a nice match! Not that it went anywhere, she turned him down flat when he asked to court her."

The boy finally stopped for a breath, but continued in a low voice. Miroku had to move forward to hear it, and only caught part of it.

"…misses father."

Miroku sighed, suddenly understanding the conversation much better. He moved away from them in a quieter mood, feeling more like a burden to the young woman than ever. If he hadn't been certain that Kagome would know by now that he was here he would have left then.


	3. See to Believe

:3:See to Believe:3:

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be."

-Douglas Adams

"Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction."

-Antoine de Saint-Exupery

---

When he reached Kagome, he was greeted with a hug and the cry of 'it's been so long!', followed by a cheerful round of question about where he'd been and what on earth he'd been doing. He answered them with a smile, his mood lifting as they spoke. Though she was taller now, and certainly older, she was still just as cheerful as always.

The good mood didn't last long, though, as he saw Sango walk out of the hut and pause for a moment. He was certain that Kagome saw it too, though she chose not to say anything about it.

Another rounds of hugs and hellos ensued. Sango moved mechanically, smiling at her younger friend and answering the same questions she always asked. She was fine, yes, so was Kohaku. Rebuilding the taijiya's village was moving slowly, but steadily, and she was very excited to see how the plans looked when the group of men who built the village they stayed in were done.

And then something familiar happened. It had been a long while, but it clicked immediately when Kagome excused themselves from Miroku and Inuyasha that there were some big questions to be asked. That much was still the same.

They stood not far from the hot springs that they normally used as baths, and Kagome folded her arms sternly.

"What's happening with Miroku-sama?" she asked. Sango shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant way.

"I don't know. He came here with Shippou, I believe."

Kagome scoffed.

"That's not what I mean, Sango-chan. What happened between you two?"

Sango sighed, not quite meeting the perceptive girl's eyes.

"I told you years ago. It just…wasn't meant to be. Things don't always turn out the way you plan them, and we were one of those things."

"I don't believe that," her friend said quietly, looking at her squarely. Three years had done a lot for Kagome, especially when it came to backbone development.

"Well it's true!" she snapped. The younger girl took a step back, startled, and Sango spun around.

"You should know better than anyone that there are some people who just can't be together," she said flatly, hating herself for the barb. To herself, she added, "A houshi and a taijiya had no right being the way we were."

"Sango-chan…" Kagome whispered, feeling her friend's sharp words.

"I'm heading back," the taiji-ya said, and did so. The young miko sighed, leaning against a tree. What had happened? It was so…weird, them not being together. No matter what had been happening, either in the feudal or modern era, they were a constant. He groped her; she slapped him. Now they hardly even spoke to each other, it seemed! She didn't understand any of it…maybe it was a bad joke. If so, she wasn't laughing.

She shook her head and walked back to camp.

---

"Houshi-sama," she breathed. His face broke into a smile, and he reached up with his new, whole hand and cupped her cheek. Doe-brown eyes widened at the touch, but after a moment she smiled as widely as he was and covered that hand with her own.

"There it is," he told her.

"There it is," she agreed. They looked at each other for a long moment, each comprehending the life that they now had. The wind was blowing softly, and she was overjoyed to realize that Naraku's curse – curses – were gone. No more choosing. No more fighting against time, worrying about the death that lingered around them, no more hopelessness. She gave a little chuckle, and he looked at her quizzically. His thumb rubbed her cheek.

"Why are you laughing?" he asked. She turned his hand so that it was palm up and traced the lines on it.

"It's nothing," she sighed. And the wind carried a laugh and a sigh on it, yet it was not kind. This laugh was one of derision, and the sigh was condescending. These were not the noises that the taijiya made as she enjoyed a quiet moment. A wisp of cold traveled with this wicked duo, and slid down Sango's spine. She gave a shiver as it settled in the base of her stomach and she knew. This was meant for the ears of one person, and one person alone. Her.

She had to be subtle. Careful. She had to slip away from him. Maybe not right now, maybe in the night. But what if they were gone by then? What if she wasn't quick enough? Now was not the time for 'what if', yet she had waited so long herself that it could not help but seep into her mind, the nasty seed of doubt worming itself into her subconscious until it warped her every move. Better to take care of it now.

She stood, and he made a motion to stand as well. Feeling a little panicked, she motioned for him to stay put, hoping that he would read into it nothing but reassurance. He did. Sango turned, and walked away – into the woods and towards the woman responsible for the ice in the taijiya's belly.

She saw her there almost immediately. Leaning casually against a tree, opening and closing her fan carelessly, the youkai looked up and smirked.

"Nice to see you again, taijiya-chan. Hope I didn't interrupt anything important," she said, her tone implying that she knew she had.

Insulted and disturbed by both the nickname and the fact that Kagura had seen her with Miroku, Sango flexed her forearm and in a flash the weapon she always had with her was out, and her sleeve had been torn away.

"What do you want?" she snapped. The youkai raised a delicate finger.

"Careful, now. You want to make a good first impression, don't you?"

Sango paused, and the ice in her belly spread through her chest when Kohaku stepped out of the bushes. He looked at her blankly, mindlessly. She spun around and looked at Kagura.

"Naraku's dead!" she cried. "I saw him die!"

"That bastard covered all the bases, it would seem. Even I have one final task before I get my happy ending," the youkai sneered. Gesturing in Kohaku's direction with her fan, she began to explain.

"He won't die without that shard, now, that I can promise. All you'll need is for the miko to 'purify' him. Got it?"

The taijiya nodded, looking at the other woman carefully. Was this another trick? Some cruel, malicious joke, perhaps? It wasn't out of the question. When she removed the jewel shard, Kohaku could die instantly, and she'd be left mourning again. On the other hand, it could be the truth. She could have her brother again. They could be happy.

The love for her sibling outweighed the 'what if' once more.

"And his memory?" she asked quietly.

Kagura shrugged and tossed her feather into the air, landing neatly upon it.

"It'll be back sooner or later."

She began to fly away, and Sango had begun to turn back when the youkai's voice rang out.

"One more thing, taijiya-chan. The terms of your bargain still stand. One look and poof!"

She whirled around and looked up in horror at the youkai, noting that Kohaku was now behind her on the feather.

"You have two days to choose," Kagura called off, and was gone. The young woman stared after them for a long moment, before collapsing on the forest floor. It wasn't long before she picked herself up and walked back towards Miroku to tell him (not entirely untruthfully) that she had run into a demon who had tried to pick a fight. She stopped only once, slicing her leg with the sword on her arm so as to be convincing. It was neither the first lie nor the last that she would tell her houshi, and it was most certainly not the worst.

But while her body sat next to him, and let him treat the wound with tender hands, her spirit was still crumpled on the ground, sobbing desperately.

---

Kohaku was still not back when Sango returned to camp, but Miroku and Inuyasha were fighting – sparring – just outside the hut. She paused, hesitant to move past as she watched Miroku move through the air with the same sharp fluidity that he had demonstrated the last time she'd fought with him, against Naraku.

His staff jangled as he made a sweep at Inuyasha. The hanyou moved quickly out of the path of the weapon, laughing.

"You're still useless, bozu!"

With that he moved forward, slashing with his usual gracelessness at the monk. Miroku blocked the move with his staff, pushing Inuyasha back. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sango watching them, and he waved cheerily before Inuyasha tackled him.

The taijiya watched in bemused shock as Miroku did a somersault, using his feet to carry the hanyou up and over his head. Then the meaning of his actions struck her, and her face fell. She rushed into the hut to collect her belongings so that they could leave as soon as possible.

He didn't hate her.

The monk and Inuyasha battled until Kagome returned and told them to come in for lunch. Still arguing over who had bested the other, they entered the hut and settled down to eat. Miroku's mood dropped a few notches almost immediately, as he saw the guarded look on Sango's face. He would leave soon, though, and she would be rid of him forever.

The meal finished, and Kagome left to bring boxes to Kohaku and Shippou (neither of whom had returned as of yet). Inuyasha followed her out, on his way for a quick bath after the match he had just had.

Sango also stood, intent on leaving to find Kohaku and get away, but Miroku called out to her.

"Sango-san," he said quietly. "I would speak with you."

Her heart was icy dread in her throat as she turned and looked at him. Bluish eyes looked at her with an age and depth that still entranced her, and his face was open, honest. Somber. It was so unlike the charming smile that she remembered from years ago. Nothing was what it had been years ago.

"Yes, houshi-sama?" she replied, quietly, looking away lest the fragile control she held slip from her grasp and be lost forever. It had happened once before, after all. And that was the cause of all this. That…and Naraku.

His fingers combed through her hair, as she looked out onto the lake, unsure of what to do. She had awoken the night before to the buzzing of a saimoshou, who had led her to Naraku, or at the least, one of his shikigami.

"I'm pleased to see you're well," he had told her, his face unseen beneath his baboon mask. Sango frowned.

"What do you want?" she snapped, at the time prepared to kill him on her own. He laughed.

"I thought you might appreciate the offer I had for you."

Kohaku stepped out of the woods, and the taijiya ground her teeth, trying not to call out to him. Naraku smiled to himself.

"It's quite the offer, I think. After all, Kohaku here has more years left in him that that houshi of yours does."

Her eyes snapped to the hanyou's face, and he laughed cruelly.

"Now that I have your attention…all I ask is one small thing. Leave the monk. Never speak to him, or see him again, and you may have your brother back, memories and all."

Sango stopped in her tracks, hardly hearing the rest of his offer, but comprehending it all. She could have Kohaku back…so long as neither he nor she ever saw Miroku. If Kohaku did, his memories were gone. He expected her to choose? She'd never thought it would come to this…

So now she sat with Miroku, knowing that she only had until the next night to make the choice, but at the same time, oddly detached. After all, by the next morning, they expected to be on Naraku's doorstep, for one last showdown, and if they won, then she wouldn't have to worry about it.

The soothing feeling of Miroku's fingers through her hair stopped, and she looked back at him. He was smiling at her, in that disarming way and she smiled back gently, sadly. His arm went around her waist and she leant against him, waiting for lunch to be ready.

That would be the end of it, then. She'd kill Naraku – problem solved.

Kohaku smiled politely when Kagome handed him the lunch. He had come to know this cheery girl well, but her face was now troubled, and he was glad that it was Shippou who asked what was wrong. She sighed, looking at the two of them.

"I'm concerned about Sango-chan," she explained. The young taijiya and his companion traded glances, and Kohaku stood.

"We were just discussing that," he agreed. "I think I'll talk to her, before we leave. It'll be easier to do while we're here. She can't disappear on me."

Kagome sat down next to Shippou to wait; both knowing that this was something that the boy needed to do on his own. Kohaku cracked his wrists – a nervous habit he'd picked up over the years – and made his way back towards the hut.

---

"Sango-san…" he started quietly. "Whatever it is I've done to hurt you, I'm truly sorry. You needn't worry about seeing me. It's apparent that my presence disturbs you, so I won't be back."

He walked past her, the jingling of the rings on his staff the only noise in the dead silence of the hut. He had barely stepped past her when she spoke.

"Stop," she said, her voice just barely steady. "You don't bother me. I don't care either way."

Her voice cracked, and she closed her eyes, continuing. She couldn't make a mistake this time. He _had _to hate her. If he hated her, it wouldn't hurt either of them quite so much.

"You're still so conceited. It doesn't bother me to see you. You never did anything to 'hurt' me. I just can't…"

She stopped, unable to finish her sentence. She couldn't do it. She couldn't say she hated him, when it was so far from the truth. Sango put her head in her hands, wondering how it had gotten so bad. She was failing miserably to make him hate her. Stepping forward to leave while she still could, with all of her broken pieces still in the ice that was her façade, she almost made it past him.

The pain was obvious in her voice, and he reached out to touch her arm. She flinched away.

"Don't touch me!" she cried. If he did, she wouldn't be able to hold out. If he did, then Naraku won again – if he hadn't already. But so what if he had won? It wasn't like she had a choice…her brother or her lover? It was her fault that her brother was like this in the first place.

Miroku pulled his hand back, looking at her sadly. He had done this to her, he knew. He had broken her, reduced her to the shadow of her former self that stood before him, her head in her hands. And he didn't know how to fix her. It wasn't him who would give her the strength to get up; he knew that. It wasn't his place any more, if it ever was. So he stood up.

"I want you to be happy," he told her gently. She straightened in a flash.

"Don't!" Sango yelled, tears sparkling in her eyes. "Don't be so –"

So 'what' they never knew. For it was at that precise moment that Kohaku walked in, and saw Miroku.

Funny how things never worked out the way one planned. Out of sight wasn't necessarily out of mind, though it seemed that Kohaku would lose his now. She watched them with horror, as the brown eyes of her brother met the blue eyes of the man she loved. Kohaku frowned in confusion, looking between them for a moment.

"Sango?" he asked, breaking the opressive tension. "Who is this? What's wrong?"

Tears, barely held back, spilled down her cheeks as she put her head in her hands and cried in relief. That bastard had lied…he knew perfectly well that he couldn't continue the control after he died, but how was she to know? She had played into his hands without a second thought.

That was done, now, though. Everything was going to be fine.

---

Her legs had given way, and she fell to the floor laughing and crying at the same time until she needed to get up and save Miroku's life. Unfortunately, her tears of relief hadn't looked to Kohaku as they were, and he had been terribly close to decapitating Miroku right then and there, before she stopped him.

Promising to explain everything to Kohaku in just a moment, she had led Miroku to a spot by the river where they had sat a thousand times before to tell him the story first.

"I wanted so badly for you to hate me," she finished, explaining her outbursts. He had sat through the entire thing in silence, and now he smiled sweetly, gathering her to him and kissing each of her eyelids.

"I could never hate you," he told her, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. "Ever."

She went pink, feeling an old, familiar warmth spread through her from his gaze as she looked away, knowing that the heat showed in her cheeks as a blush.

Her gaze fell on the river, and she saw the soft pink colours that indicated the sun was setting. _That_ had taken awhile.

"We should head back," she said. "Before everyone begins to worry."

He nodded, and released her. They were halfway back to camp when another old, familiar feeling cupped her bottom, and her cheeks turned pink once again. She gave a little shriek of outrage and slapped him, storming away, feeling more like herself than she had in years, but not about to let him know that. Miroku, standing, laughed. Perhaps he should have left that particular dynamic in the past…

Nevertheless, he hurried to keep up with her, intent on making sure she was never out of sight again.

---

…Wow. You guys don't know how amazing it feels to have this done now. I started this…just before school broke out last year, and it's like, October now. There was a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and incense put into this particular story, and a lot of late nights. I want to say thank you to a couple of people, actually.

Firstly, to Kitty, as always. She spent hours on the phone with me, helping me pound out the plot to this sucker. I'm not even joking about time, here, folks. And she has her own life to lead without all of my stupid complicated love/angst plots entangled in her life. She'll say all she did was listen, but ignore her. She was a lifesaver on this project. If you liked this, thank HER.

Secondly, to a certain pain in the ass that never objects to telling me when _I'm_ being an asshat, who came up with a working title for this story. This pest has my friendship always, regardless of the obsession with not harassing the general public, and knows who they are. Thanks!

One last person, who we'll call Angel at the moment, who never wavers with the internet connection, cheerful 'ganbatte' messages, or music downloads. She collected the soundtrack to this for me, without it I wouldn't have gotten even a page down. Again, if you liked this, thank HER as well, because she made it happen.

And finally, I want to just write down quickly all of the songs that Angel got for me, to help me get in the 'mood' for writing this song, as well as point out that it was _She's Gotta Be_ _and Probably Wouldn't be This Way_ that got me started. Because I heart angst.

Like we Never Loved at All – Faith Hill/Tim McGraw

Best I Ever Had – Gary Allen

Raining on Sunday – Keith Urban

Probably Wouldn't be This Way – Leanne Rimes

Behind These Hazel Eyes – Kelly Clarkson

She's Gotta Be – Keith Urban

Hanging by a Moment – Lifehouse

Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata – o0 Er…duh

I Don't Know you Anymore – Savage Garden

Away from the Sun - Maroon 5

Thank you all for sticking with me on this bizarro little journey of a story. I promise, Tatterdemalion isn't nearly so whacked. Which reminds me…I should start on the next chapter…


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